


Crown Me a Fool

by IAmANonnieMouse



Series: Cards 'Verse [1]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cards, Fantasy, M/M, Secret Saito, Sort Of, playing cards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:01:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28438074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmANonnieMouse/pseuds/IAmANonnieMouse
Summary: Eames was born to a Nine of Clubs and Ten of Hearts. As their firstborn, he should have been perfectly positioned to rise through the elite ranks of the Club and Heart Courts. He should have received the best education his parents could buy, and grown up alongside fellow Clubs and Hearts to become a viable suitor for a Jack of any Suit.In short, Eames could have become a prince.But instead, he was born a Fool.
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Series: Cards 'Verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2095608
Comments: 46
Kudos: 64
Collections: Cards 'Verse, Secret Saito 2020





	Crown Me a Fool

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cardist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cardist/gifts).
  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [愚人之冕（Crown Me a Fool）](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28551045) by [Ursula_Wen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ursula_Wen/pseuds/Ursula_Wen)



> For the amazing mark, whose prompt was "fool." The moment I saw this prompt I _knew_ I had to do something card-related. Wishing you the happiest of holidays, Mark!! <3
> 
> Infinite love and hugs to my mouse spouse Flosculatory, for reading all four versions of this fic over the course of the last month and sitting on the phone with me for over four hours today until I was finally happy with this <3 LOVE YOU BOO

The crown is an elaborate thing, covered in enough jewels that Eames could probably buy fifty castles with them and still have money left over. He lifts it from its pedestal and gently places it on top of his head, sighing when it slips a little over his forehead.

It isn’t as heavy as the Club crown, but that’s to be expected. The Club Court likes things that can double as weapons, whereas the Diamonds just want something that’s expensive. Eames plucks the crown off his head and pokes at an enormous ruby. It’s ridiculous that a single set of birthmarks separated Eames from this. 

He puts the crown back and slips back out of the Diamond Court with the ease of practice. He’s grown very skilled over the years at being unnoticed. These days, almost nobody sees him except when he’s in his Fool suit, bells chiming with every step, cracking jokes for his audience to laugh at.

He makes it home in moments, climbing in the window to his corner room. When he was younger, he hated this room. It felt like exile—and in a way, that’s exactly what it was. But Eames has embraced it now, and he enjoys the freedom that comes with being forgotten. 

He strips out of his Diamond disguise and carefully wipes the small diamonds off his temples that he’d painted with makeup. Then, he climbs into bed and falls asleep.

*

Eames was born to a Nine of Clubs and Ten of Hearts. As their firstborn, he should have been perfectly positioned to rise through the elite ranks of the Club and Heart Courts. He should have received the best education his parents could buy, and grown up alongside fellow Clubs and Hearts to become a viable suitor for a Jack of any Suit.

In short, Eames could have become a prince.

But instead, he was born a Fool—and, as his father said, “Fools don’t wear crowns.”

Eames grew up in the servants' quarters, tucked between the kitchens, washrooms, and stables. His younger sister, born five years later, was raised as his parents’ firstborn, simply because her temples displayed small, club-shaped birthmarks while Eames’ temples remained empty, unmarked.

In his youth, a nurse took pity on him and explained the truth of his status. “You are a Fool,” she said gently. “None of the Courts will support you, but you are not beholden to any of them. You have no Suit of your own, but owe allegiances to no one. You have a freedom that makes you powerful, so society will try to make you feel weak.” She kissed his forehead and said, “But promise me you will always remember: you are the master of your own fate.”

Over time, he began to understand what his nurse had meant, and he embraced it—the freedom of being a Fool.

*

Eames decides to dress as an unassuming Five today. He paints small spades at his temples with makeup he bought off one of the maids, and pulls on a tidy but nondescript suit, deftly working his tie into the Eldredge knot that will mark him as a member of the Spade Court.

He leaves his room by the door this time, waving at the chefs on his way past. They no longer stare at his ever-changing wardrobe. The maids actually teamed up once to find the perfect shade of makeup for him to paint fake birth-Suit marks on his temples.

“Go get ‘em,” one of the cooks calls.

Eames grins and ducks out the back door, heading past the stables toward the Spade Court. He has an appointment today, and he doesn’t want to be late.

It’s child’s play for him to slip into the Spade castle unnoticed. As he does every week, he winds his way through the familiar corridors, past the throne room and banquet hall, until he reaches a small, nondescript door. He knocks, and the door opens immediately.

“Good morning, my King,” Eames says lightly as he steps inside.

The King of Spades smirks and closes the door behind him. “You look tired,” he observes. “Another late night?”

Eames shrugs and sits in his usual chair, crossing his legs. “It was a lovely night for a stroll.”

The King chuckles and pours them both some tea, adding plenty of sugar and milk to Eames’ cup.

“What do you have for me today, my Fool?” the King of Spades asks as he settles into his own chair.

Eames hums and sips his tea. “Well,” he says, drawing out the word, “there might be some discord in the Club Court.”

“When isn’t there?”

“Bigger discord than usual,” Eames amends. “And the Diamonds are probably going to be hiring more guards soon, but I don’t want you to read into it at all.”

The King arches a brow. “Why not?”

“A thief...may have broken into their Court. And stolen the crown. But,” Eames is quick to add, “the thief put it back.”

The King sips his tea blandly. “Did the thief leave a helpful note like he did with the Club Court’s crown?”

Eames tries to bite back his smile. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“I’m not going to tell you to stop,” the King says. “I have no control over you, nor do I want any. I only ask that you be careful, my Fool.”

Eames pretends that he doesn’t feel anything from the way the King’s eyes soften with his words. It’s silly, the way they are both dancing around each other, but they’ve done it for so long that Eames can hardly imagine life without it.

“I read a book I think you’ll enjoy,” the King says into the quiet that’s settled between them. 

Eames smiles and pours them some more tea. “Tell me more.”

*

The first time Eames performed as a Fool, he was only a boy, small enough that the brim of his belled hat still slipped over his eyes. He was dragged to the center of the Heart Court’s banquet hall by an angry woman and abandoned there in front of everyone.

As minutes passed and Eames did nothing but stand there trembling, the people in the crowd began to mutter to each other. 

Someone threw something at him and he ducked, covering his head. It landed at his feet: a juggling ball. Two more were thrown at him in quick succession, and he dodged each one.

“Can’t you even juggle?” someone shouted when Eames didn’t pick them up.

“Tell us a joke,” someone else suggested. “Here, I’ll help: what’s the difference between an idiot and a Fool?”

“There isn’t one,” a woman called, laughing wildly.

Eventually, Eames reached for the balls and held them nervously. Someone told him to throw them, so he did.

The first hit a woman in the audience. The second knocked over a candle. Eames didn’t stick around to see where the third ball landed.

The Queen of Hearts found him hours later, crouched in a dark street corner with his knees pulled up to his chest. She sat with him all night, until the sun started to rise on the horizon. She told him about her mother, born a Fool to the previous King and Queen of Hearts, banished into obscurity until an Eight of Hearts asked for her hand in marriage.

When she gave birth to the next Queen, she was suddenly thrust back into the spotlight she’d been denied.

“She waited for someone to tell her she could,” the Queen of Hearts told Eames. “You should not do the same. You don’t need to stay in the shadows, only dragged out when people want a show. You can do so much more.” She leaned in closer and said, “Don’t let people tell you this is all you can become.”

Eames straightened at that, sniffling quietly. “Fools don’t wear crowns,” he recited hollowly. 

The Queen wrapped an arm around his shoulders and said, “A Fool has not worn a crown _yet._ But you can be the first, _non_?”

*

“Since the dawn of time,” Eames says grandly, “people have wondered where Fools come from.” He scans the attentive faces staring at him, all with intricate Eldredge knots at their throat. He’s performing for the Spade Court tonight, and its elegant, beautiful King.

“Some say we are created by the mysterious Aces. Others say that we just”—he snaps his fingers—“blink into existence. You know what I say?” He pauses, grinning sharply. “I say we’re born when a special someone feels particularly giddy, happy, or...mischievous. So!” He claps his hands together and tilts his head just right so the bells on his hat chime merrily. “Who wants to ‘fess up?”

Everyone laughs, and Eames joins them. 

“Come, come, there’s no shame in it! I want to thank you personally! You are the reason I’m here, after all.” He turns slowly, making eye contact with random people. Then he turns to his King, smile widening.

It’s the first time he’s let himself look at the King tonight, and he gives himself a moment to take in the rich fabric of his suit. It matches the gems in his crown, and the tie at his throat.

The King’s eyes glitter with a hidden smile.

“Was it you?” Eames asks him, merrily bouncing from foot to foot. “Even Kings can be mischievous.”

The Court laughs again, hesitant until their King smiles in response. “Perhaps,” the King says. “But I believe Fools are the most mischievous of all.”

Later, when Eames has finished his entertainment, a Two of Spades appears at his side. “Excuse me,” she says primly, “my King wishes to speak with you.”

“That was quite the joke,” the King says when Eames is standing at his side.

“Ah, I am but a humble Fool,” Eames says, sketching a bow. “I surely meant no offense, my King.”

“Surely,” the King echoes, lip curling. “You know,” he says, voice lower, “for someone who belongs to no Court, you certainly call me yours often enough.”

Eames smiles and says, “So do you.”

He sketches another bow and returns to the crowds, drifting between the mix of low and high ranks that are always present at the Spade Court ball. Unlike the other Suits, the King of Spades has always opened his doors to everyone. 

As he watches everyone spin across the floor, Eames wishes he could dance with the King like this, in front of the entire Court. But he knows better. His dances with his King are reserved for when he’s wearing someone else’s Suit. 

He’s accepted that, mostly. But sometimes, he wishes he could stop playing someone else’s role and dance with the King all the same.

*

The first time Eames met the King of Spades, he had eyes only for his crown. He was older, big enough that his Fool’s hat no longer slipped over his eyes. But he was dreaming of something much grander than a hat with bells.

He laughed and danced through his performance, the gleam of the King’s crown a beacon at the far end of the hall.

The Club crown had been a disappointment. But the Spade crown looked perfect.

After that, Eames snuck into the Spade Court almost every day, dressing as servants and rich heirs and everything in between. One afternoon, he was pretending to be a squire, sparring with other Spades under the Sword Master’s watchful eye, when a familiar voice caught his attention.

He knocked his opponent into the ground, then offered him a hand up, using the movement to glance across the field.

“Gentlemen,” the Sword Master bellowed, “attention!”

Eames bowed with the others as the King of Spades walked towards them, dark eyes sharp and assessing.

“You,” the King said, nodding at Eames. 

The Sword Master grunted and quickly herded the other squires into a smaller, adjacent field.

“My King,” Eames said, bowing low.

The King nodded and raised his sword. “Show me what you’ve learned, squire.” 

Eames and the King crossed swords with a loud clang of steel. The King was driven back with the force of Eames’ blow, but he quickly recovered, twisting his sword so quickly that Eames’ sword almost went flying out of his hand. 

They traveled across the entire practice field, striking and parrying, and Eames didn’t bother to stop the smile that spread over his face.

Then, the King flicked his wrist, sending Eames’ sword into the dirt. Moments later, he had Eames pinned against the wall of the storehouse where the Master kept his training gear, the edge of his sword resting across Eames’ throat. 

“Hello, little Fool,” the King murmured, leaning just a little closer. “I thought I saw you loitering around here yesterday. Wanted to see for myself.”

Eames inhaled and felt the sword press more firmly against his skin. “Hello, my King.”

The King hummed, eyeing him consideringly. “You’ve gotten my attention, Fool,” he said. “Now, what are you going to do with it?”

Eames smiled and said, “More than you can dream.”

*

“Why do you do it?” the King asks quietly.

“Do what?” Eames asks.

The King arches a brow and says nothing.

They’re in the King’s study, curled up in their usual chairs. Eames pauses to pour himself some more tea as he considers his answer.

“My birth was not recorded in my family’s history,” he says.

The King frowns. “Why not?”

“Fools’ births never are.” Eames leans back in his chair, hands wrapped around his teacup. “For all intents and purposes, Fools are useless heirs. We don’t inherit. We can’t carry the family name.” His lip curls. “We can’t wear crowns.”

The King tilts his head to the side. “So you steal them instead?”

Eames nods.

“Why not keep them for yourself?”

“Owning a crown wouldn’t make me worthy of wearing a crown,” Eames says. He wants to say, _Because it wouldn’t be mine. Because I’ve spent my life trying on other people’s things, and I don’t want to do that anymore._ But today isn’t the day for confessions like that. He looks back at the King and forces a grin. “Besides, they never fit right.”

The King returns his smile and lets the subject drop.

*

Months into their weekly meetings, the King said, “I’m hosting a ball in three days. Will I see you there?”

Eames tilted his head to the side. “My entertainment hasn’t been requested so far. Is this your way of asking?”

“Not exactly.” The King smiled slightly. “I thought you could sneak in, like you break into my castle every day.”

Eames returned his smile. “Do you want me to?”

“I want you to wear a suit,” the King said. “The best you have.”

“That,” Eames said, smiling, “I can do.”

Three days later, Eames arrived at the Spade Court’s ball in the finest suit he owned. From the moment he stepped inside the hall, he felt his King’s eyes on him. They tracked him carefully as Eames drifted around the room, talking with strangers who thought he was a Six of Spades.

The hours flew by, and he didn’t notice exactly when the King left his throne and stepped off his dais. But then, a hand tapped his shoulder and a familiar voice said, “May I have this dance?”

Eames turned, smiling widely. “I didn’t think Kings asked for anything.” He took the King’s hand and let himself be led onto the floor.

Their first dance was seamless. Their second, perfect. Their third was practically transcendent, and it scared Eames just a little, so he said, “Would you dance with me if I were dressed as a Fool?”

The King paused long enough that Eames wanted to take back his words. Then he said, “Will you still visit me after you’ve stolen my crown?”

Eames stumbled, and their dance faltered until the King took the lead again.

“I—” Eames began, but then a court member materialized at their side, nervously asking if she could beg a favor from her King.

“Of course,” the King said, and he was quickly pulled away.

Eames let him go without a fight. Moments later, he was home, ripping off his suit and swiping the makeup from his skin. 

He wasn’t going to steal the King of Spades’ crown. But before tonight, he hadn’t realized he’d made the decision.

*

“I have a gift for you,” the King says when Eames arrives at his study. “If you’ll close your eyes.”

“So mysterious,” Eames teases, but he stops where he is and lets his eyes drift closed. He hears the rustle of fabric, then a weight settles on his head, resting perfectly on his brow.

Eames’ heart stops.

The metal is cool against his skin, but warming quickly. He reaches up to touch it, then hesitates, afraid to believe.

After a moment, he manages to move his hand, and he pulls the crown off his head, cautiously opening his eyes. It’s gorgeous and intricate, and nothing at all like any of the other Courts’ crowns.

It’s beautiful.

“You are just as worthy of wearing a crown as anyone else,” the King says, voice quiet but firm. 

Eames turns to look at him, hands clutching the crown almost desperately. “What is this?”’

The King steps closer. “I would dance with you while you were dressed as a Fool,” he says, a fierce edge to his words. “I would dance with you anywhere, and everywhere, if you would let me.”

Eames inhales a trembling breath. “I’m never going to steal your crown,” he confesses. “I wanted to, the first time we met. And I lied to myself for months. But that was never why I came here.”

The King takes another step closer. “You told my Court once that people have always wondered where Fools come from. I have another theory for you.”

“Do you?” Eames steps forward, until they’re only a breath apart. 

The King leans in until their noses brush. “I believe that Fate intervened and created you just for me,” he murmurs.

The words unlock a knot in Eames’ chest, and he smiles. “How do you know you weren’t the one created for me, my King?”

The King reaches out and gently wraps an arm around Eames’ waist. “I want to give you everything that will make you happy."

“There’s no need, my King,” Eames says, pulling him in closer. “I already am.”

*

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Under the Stars](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28612260) by [storm_of_sharp_things](https://archiveofourown.org/users/storm_of_sharp_things/pseuds/storm_of_sharp_things)




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